


Solace

by litspinels



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-22 08:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litspinels/pseuds/litspinels





	Solace

 

She sinks her head deeper into the pillow with a lazy groan, rolling to her side and away from the soft light streaming through the curtains; the inescapable fact of the start of a new day. Her body curls into a ball, mind clinging to the last remnants of sleep and rejecting the pull in her eyes to open, telling herself to go back dreaming…

But she seldom dreams of him.

When she did her dreams were beautiful. They were spaces in time that neither dragged nor went by too fast—each scene a tampered memory, fragments of what-ifs; an addition to what had happened in real life. She would rouse with a heavy heart, never remembering what happened just moments before she woke. In the morning she would think of him, asking questions inside her head, and through time she had forgotten the details, locking them away till all that remained was the feeling, only the bitter realization lingering in her mind. She would drag herself out of bed, brush her teeth like always, turn the knobs on her shower and bathed beneath the warm spray. It was a dream, and nothing more.

With heavy eyes she chances a peek at the space on her bed and beyond. It was as it had always been; her pillows strewn around, creased covers and her legs tangled within the blankets, close to falling on the edge of one side of the bed. Out of habit she makes an attempt to smoothen the covers around where she laid, soft touch slowing to a stop when she feels the warm surface; all feeling of sleepiness replaced by an abrupt sense of discomfort. On her nightstand the ash tray stood with a few butts extinguished from last night, its scent mixed with an earthy, musky fume cutting through the morning breeze like a flare in her nostrils as she grows conscious with each intake of breath and she can smell it – on her pillows, on her covers, on her blankets, and on her skin. Her eyes dart to the open door and she nervously rubs her legs together, breaking into cold sweat as she sits up, both hands clutching the blanket to her chest.

The cold floor bites at the soles of her feet but she ignores it, standing up to wrap the blanket around her body haphazardly, fingers shaking as she secures it in place. She half-runs down the flight of stairs, clutching the sheet to her chest as if to silence her heart beating louder than the sound of her footsteps.

Her kitchen was empty, looking just as she had left it yesterday morning with no plates on the sink and no glasses used. She shakes her head and pads through the doors leading to the bathroom to find not a single thing out of place. Each step towards the living room she begins to wish for a bigger home if only to keep having a place to look, though she laments at her chances with a creeping sense of dread seeing her sofa unoccupied.

_It wasn’t a dream._

Akane Tsunemori seldom dreamed. When she did her dreams were beautiful.

_It wasn’t a dream._

Dreams did not leave traces of warmth on one side of her bed. Dreams did not seep scents on fabric and skin, lingering in the air for her to breathe in as she crosses the empty training room and dragged her feet. Dreams did not rid her of clothes to leave her exposed and vulnerable, nor burn touches feather-light or rough, marked intricately like the veins underneath her skin, seared to her memory that she still feels it. Dreams did not ignite her passion, unearthing the desires locked away deep in her heart; did not overwhelm her with a kiss, engulf her in heat or own her in ecstasy; in want, in need. Dreams did not render her weak as she runs out of room to seek, bringing her to the last place in her home where she meets with reality and it all comes back to her in waves— last night.

Last night was not a dream.

Akane almost slams the door open if not for her own surprise from stepping on the hem of the blanket—she grasps the sheet and pulls it against her in the most unfashionable of ways before looking up, suddenly wishing there was enough sunlight on the horizon to pretend it was the reason for the moisture in her eyes.

He sat on the bench, one leg propped and the other curled beneath, Shinya Kogami abandons the pages of the book in his hands to look at her.

"I... I thought you left!" She chuckles, beating him to it. Akane glances sideways, embarrassed to be standing so awkwardly wearing nothing but cotton-white sheets. So much for being the positive one; she blinks rapidly while thumbing the fabric, a vivid reminder that only her grip held it in place. She could feel his stare and knows that he already knew, not that it was hard to figure out anyway.

Akane smiles bravely and looks him in the eye, stilling for a brief moment at the softness of his gaze; she shakes her head and makes to speak. "I'll just go--"

"Come here," he cuts her off, setting the book aside and holding his hand out. She scoffs, knowing she wasn't going to refuse, and while he sits casually without a shirt on at least he had the pleasure of wearing something less indicative of last night's proceedings; like a pair of pants.

The thought propels her feet forward despite the cold floor, making the trip of a few steps seem longer. She ignores the cool breeze blowing through the rooftop, or the fact that there were building surrounding them much higher and making her available to anyone who dared to look. She doesn't break his stare, like she was drawn to him and had no choice in the matter; she takes his hand and realizes how much warmer it is inside.

Kogami quietly hooks an arm beneath her legs and pulls her to his lap. The move drags the blanket lower, exposing most of her back as she overcomes her surprise and struggles to keep herself covered with one hand clutching the blanket. Akane buries her face on the crook of his neck, her free hand balled into a fist and trying to contain her embarrassment. His head dips to plant a kiss on her shoulder, and she figures he was sure making it hard for her at that moment. She thinks she may have been holding her breath for the whole ordeal, and now she couldn't seem to have the freedom to release it.

 

"You alright?" He finally spoke against her skin. She swore he was smelling her, the way his nose hovered over the surface. His arms held her flush against him, her legs dangling beneath the blanket whose ends were sure to have touched the floor. Akane exhales shakily, slowly relaxing her fingers above his chest while the other still held the blanket to her breast. She figures she should have answered by now, but he shows no sign of impatience, and she revels in his warmth that contrasted with the chill in the air.

"What are you reading?" She muses, fingers tracing lightly on the bullet wound on the right of his chest. His rough exterior, beaten and wounded in times too many, most she did not bear witness to, she sought with touch and engraved in her memory; scars held stories with more meaning than the books she had read.

Kogami takes her free hand, pressing her cold fingers against his lips. She tensed up against him once more before looking up at him with a scowl.

A chuckle escapes his lips and doesn't wait this time and watches the blush spread beautifully on her cheeks. "I asked first."

The tease brings her back to hiding against him, deciding she would rather talk to his chest than look in his eyes. It wasn't like she hid her fascination at his beautiful pectorals anyway, or any other part of his body. He had seen it before, years ago, and this time it would make her feel less ashamed to admit she would rather not stare at his face. Kogami doesn't ask again, though she was certain he was willing to wait till she was ready to answer.

Akane settles for the peaceful silence, instead, exhaling deeply at the feel of his hands softly caressing her back. "You must be cold," he says, and she shakes her head as a reply. She wasn't that cold, she wanted to say. Not really.

"You were barefoot, though," he emphasizes his point by reaching at her feet beneath the blanket. Gently he rubs the soles with the palm of his hand, warming them up before covering them again. Akane closes her eyes and snuggles against him, planting a soft kiss on his shoulder. He rests his head against hers and rocks her slowly, resuming his soft caresses. That she was so comfortable in his arms deeply surprised him; after all those years he could not think his hands were capable of being gentle anymore, and he keeps wanting to know, even after last night when she had smiled contently and kissed him passionately, that he did not hurt her in any way.

***

A fugitive with dirty, blood-stained hands. That was what he was, what he had been for the past six years. He lived, fighting to survive war-torn lands only to be involved in it. There was no peace outside of Sibyl, there was no peace anywhere for him. The world was not a better place, and even he couldn't escape the world in his mind. Haunted by his nemesis, or perhaps a mere shadow; a reminder of his old self. Victories did not come without a price. He did not leave his country feeling that way; he did not believe he could ever win.

 

Four years and he sees her again, and immediately he knows that she was no longer the kind who breaks easily. Her hands were as tough as her conviction, and yet he manages to talk her to escape; to do what she came for. He so dared to think that he came all the way to arrest him, but he tells her to come catch him again, because he needed to tell himself the same thing too.

Another two years, he sits in his room and asks himself what more could he possibly do. Sibyl has expanded across the country, its reach closing in—rather than feeling trapped he feels a bitter sense of nostalgia, for one lifetime ago he had held the gun that many are now wielding, most of which were his comrades, turned in and converted; the price of peace was now a virus that people were infected with. And while he never held it against anyone who wished for peace, he knew with certainty that his job was done here, because he did not belong anywhere the system did.

He tells himself the same thing when he makes it to the border. The sirens wail and he remembers two women in his life were on the other side. By far it was the most foolish thing he had done, knowing he could be eliminated on the spot, he stands by the gates with both hands behind his head, kneeling on the ground and thinking if he would die they would at least know, and that his remains, if abandoned, was still closer to home.

What he did not expect was for a Dominator to not recognize him. Not in name, or face, or Psycho-Pass. His records as an employee of the Criminal Investigation Department did not exist, as if he had been completely written off save for his life prior to the CID. He meets Akane Tsunemori after a series of tests and was cleared for release, and on the way to his mother's house she pulls over and tells him that what had been deleted in the records led her to think that it was inevitable; that to erase Shogo Makishima's existence they must also erase his killer, and it was a price Sibyl was willing to pay.

He remembers laughing so hard inside the car-- the complete opposite of what he was feeling, and wonders why he's not being flagged that very moment for he was certain his anger was enough to trigger his crime coefficient levels. With bitterness he concludes from now on the possibility of living and feeling just like Makishima, and for once in his life he feels a deep and disgusted sense of regret. He mocks Akane and asks her what exactly did she think she was working for, being only half aware that he had raised his voice at the one woman he trusted the most; fists hitting the dashboard so hard it dented, not caring if his knuckles bled.

Akane tells him she doesn't work for them anymore, and he looks at her more distraught than he had ever been, realizing at that moment that perhaps she had given something up that he could never hope to have, like her ideals and what she fought for; much like the truth of two years in his life that was so unjustly taken from him, because finally she had succumbed to the system, not because it was easy, but because she simply could not fight it alone. She looks in his eyes with a pained expression, hugging herself in the driver's seat and whispers softly.

"It's just a digital record, Kogami-san. I remember everything when you were with me, so you can ask me, and you can ask anyone, really. It’s just a record."

He doesn't ask. He doesn’t think. Instead he pulls her in his arms and pauses for a split second before diving in to capture soft lips, pure and beautiful, like he needed it to continue living. She doesn’t hesitate to return the gesture; Akane kissed him with a hunger only he could understand, with no regard for his rugged and unkempt appearance, she slides her tongue along with his, rakes her fingers through his hair and he knows, he _feels_ the six years—that he clings to her when she breaks away. He left with nothing and came back with nothing; still she embraces him tenderly and accepts his demons, the dark in him that only her light can touch.

***

“Are you alright?”

The sound of his voice stirs her awake, a soft moan escapes her lips as she squints her eyes and curls slowly in his arms. She looked so peaceful that he did not notice her drift off to sleep. Kogami looks down at her just as she opened her eyes, wearing a lazy grin that made his chest swell.

“I’m good,” she replies, finally, as she reaches behind his neck to softly drag her fingers there. Through droopy eyes she sees him clearly, but she presses against him anyway, just to make sure.

“You didn’t leave.”

“No, I didn’t,” he whispers, turning his head to kiss the arm that held him close. He doesn’t tell her that he needs her, badly, so if she wants him to leave she’d have to ask. “The sun’s up, what do you want to do?”

The back of her hand caressed his cheek and she allowed herself a moment to gaze closely at his face. He had grown a bit of a stubble, and the rough feel was a sensation she enjoyed whenever he kissed her shoulders. She traced the faint scars on both sides of his cheek and kissed the ones on the bridge of his nose.

“Take down Sibyl,” she jokes, watching the surprised look on his face turn to amusement. She decides immediately that she likes this slow morning in his arms and wonders with genuine curiosity if she did not imagine his hard expression change from the serious and brooding, to the soft and tranquil. Frankly, she couldn’t care less about the weather or what to do next.

He lifts her chin, running a thumb across her bottom lip. He plants a kiss, chaste and sweet, enough to heat her cold lips. Akane sure says funny things in the morning, though he could never deny the suggestion was very appealing. He doesn’t tell her a lot of things, like how he loves that innocent look in her eyes, her love of truth and justice, her respect for the law. Instead of saying more meaningful things he chooses to amuse her with simple replies.

“Sounds like a good idea. I might take you up on that offer. But first—”

He stands up and takes her with him, relishing the lovely color of her hair when the sunlight hits; her face is half-confused, half-amused, but she clings to him closely, the blanket so dangerously close to slipping of her chest. Not that he minded, after all, they did sleep together last night. His arms hold tight, though. Just because he saw doesn’t mean anyone else should.

“Let’s go back to sleep.” 

Akane straight-up laughs, delight easing in her features as she hums pleasantly in agreement. He doesn’t bother closing the door behind as he walks back inside, doesn’t bother lifting the sheet that dragged on the floor he walked on. He catches her lips when they reach the foot of the stairs, slowly exhaling the air through his nose, he feels her smile against his lips; a little something that makes him feel better, makes him believe that everything that happened wasn’t such a bad thing, and he thinks happily…

 

This had to be what ordinary people felt like.


End file.
